Not Fair, Not in the Least
by madwriter223
Summary: -AU- A story of how Sherlock came to be. A story of deceit and pain that will never be voiced, no matter how much they want to.


**Not Fair, Not in the Least**

Mummy laughs happily, accepting the congratulations as she bounces the tiny babe in her arms. She smiles and nods and coos at the bundle, kissing its forehead, petting its cheek.

He watches from the doorway, eyes fixed on his mother's face, and the happiness that even though is genuine, it doesn't belong. The party swings around him, the music and words wash over him, and his hands clench.

It isn't fair, not in the least.

The party continues well into the night. The baby was laid in its nursery some time ago, sleeping deeply despite the noise. The baby wakes when hands grasp and lift it, but the hold is gentle and warm, so it calms. It drifts back to sleep as the hands start walking, the movement rocking it.

The baby hardly cares where it's being taken. These big warm hands are just so comfy.

The party continues, and no one notices the figure creeping in the shadows outside, a blue bundle grasped in his arms. No one notices when he starts running. No one notices when he's met by another figure, and they both disappear into the darkness.

The party continues, and they know (hope) it'll be some time before someone notices the baby's absence.

They find a bench in the park, hidden away from view by bushes and trees. She sits and he immediately presses the bundle into her arms. She stares at the little face, the tiny nose, the soft dark hair. She curls around the baby, cuddles it close to her aching chest, smiling through her tears.

"He's so tiny." she whispers, awe coloring her voice. He sits next to her, smiling sadly. "Look at him. He's so cute. So little."

"He has your eyes." He agrees softly, petting the soft mop of hair. "And your curls."

She gives a short breathless laugh, and rests her cheek atop the babe's head, rocking it in her arms.

"He's perfect." he whispers, and his chest clenches in pain. "Absolutely perfect."

She lets out a sob, and looks at him, her eyes wide and pleading. "Can't we keep him?" she whispers, tears welling up and falling. "Why can't we keep him? We can... we will love him. He's so beautiful, we can't _not_ love him."

His mother's reasons arise in his mind. How they are too young, too foolish still. How they won't be able to give the baby what it deserves, that it won't have a truly happy childhood with two fifteen year olds for parents. How love is not enough to keep a baby happy.

He closes his eyes, his own tears falling silently. He has all those reasons in his head, but he won't say them. He won't utter them because they will only serve to bring more pain.

"It's not fair." he whispers instead, watching as the mother of his child cries, watches as she hugs their child for probably the only time in her life. "It's not fair in the least."

She answers him with a sob, presses a wet kiss to the little head. The baby stares at her intently, a tiny frown marring its forehead. It doesn't understand their pain either.

He reaches towards the bundle, wants to soothe it like he's seen his mother do, wants to spell away its incoming wails. But he stops when instead the baby grasps his finger, holding on tightly, refusing to let go.

_His son._

On that bench he finally breaks, crying breathless sobs as his son holds on, pressing his forehead to the girl he wanted to spend his life with not so long ago. Why can't they keep the baby? Why can't they marry and be together, a real family of three?

Why does his mother care for the babe as if it was her own, why does she refuse to let him hold it? Why is his love moving away, being sent far away from him? Why did he have to steal the baby from its own bassinet, just so that its own mother could hold it? Why can't they meet and watch their son grow? Why can't it be their son?

And she, she cries with him. She pulls him close and they huddle together, watching their tiny son. For one painful moment, they are a family. A family of three, soon to be broken up and forever parted.

With their son between them, they plan. Their tears continue to fall, and they whisper promises and decide secrets. They kiss each other and the baby, whisper their love onto it. He swears on his life he will always protect it, he will always be there for his son. No, not son. He promises his newborn brother, born of his own flesh and blood and welcomed into this world in deceit and secrecy. He will always care for this baby.

He will always care for little Sherlock Holmes.

Mummy is frantic when he eventually comes back. She nearly rips the baby from his arms, cuddles it close as she yells at him. He stares at her with dead eyes and pain so acute in his chest.

He keeps his secrets well. He watches from doorways as the baby grows, he slips in at night to read the babe books or just to stare at him.

Each week, he sends a letter to a Mrs. Irene Addler in America, and signs them as Professor Moriarty from London University. He never tells his mother that inside the envelopes he hides pictures of little Sherlock. Their parents never figure out who hides behind those name. Both he and she make sure they never will.

And he keeps his promise, as well as he can. He protects his brother (his son, his aching heart whispers) as much as he can. That's all he's allowed to do.

Mycroft stares at his little family, stares at the smile on Vivian's face, at the blue, blue eyes of both her and their baby son. He stares and he knows it's just for one night, one evening hidden away from the world.

It's not fair. Not in the least.

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AN: Okay, so the original prompt was basically that Mycroft is Sherlock's father, not brother. He knocked up a girl in his teens, and Mummy Holmes adopted the baby boy, raising him as her son. I imagine Mummy Holmes would probably force Sherlock's real mother to move away, just to make sure no one would reveal the secret to the boy. Hope this makes the AU slightly easier to understand. If not, ask away.


End file.
